Reflections of Forgotten Races
by Clever Hobbit
Summary: One forgotten race struggles to remember its history. Another remembers and discovers that they are not alone in this modern world.


Disclaimer: I don't own any of the marvelous JRR Tolkien's creations.

* * *

Mama's told me stories about the Ancient Times, back, back, way before we left.  
  
"Left from where?" I always ask.  
  
"I don't know," mama admits. She says she can't remember the name of the land- her mother couldn't tell her, because the ones who came before us, our ancestors, mama says, forgot a long time ago.  
  
"What was it like?" I always ask. Mama tells me. Mama says that it was a good, green place, filled with hills and fields and trees and streams. She says that all of our people were safe there; we had holes and houses.  
  
"Holes?" I ask. "Moles live in holes. So do badgers and rodents. We didn't really live in holes, did we?" Mama says yes. I believe her. She also says that the houses weren't like them houses that those Big People have. I'm glad about that- those big houses look funny. Some have odd colors, and most have two floors. Some even have little houses for their- their- what was that word mama used? Oh- cars.  
  
That's another thing I know about the Ancient Times- there were no cars, or funny black roads with yellow lines down the center. The Big Folk didn't have any sorts of moving machines like that. But mama didn't tell me this- I learned it from our village storyteller.  
  
"Loremaster," he says. "I am the master of all forms an' shapes of lore." Loremaster says that a lot. He also says that one day, when I'm old enough, he'll tell me all of the old stories so I can be a "Loremaster" too. I told my da that one day when he came to get me from an afternoon of listening to stories. Da gave me an odd look.  
  
"Keep your head out of the clouds, young miss. You should watch where it is you're going, and not be a-glancin' back over your shoulder. What's done is done, and we're never getting that life we once had back."  
  
But mama liked the idea. She thought it was a good thing that old Gaffer Gardener (as she calls him) has a bright lass like me to take up his work, so she says. The other lads and lasses think I'm a bit odd for wanting to collect stories and knowledge.  
  
"Cracking," they say, and then go on to mention how a good many Gardeners were cracked. But the Loremaster says not to listen to them.  
  
"Alla them has Gard'ner blood, wither they like it or no." I often ask what he means. He just says, "I'm a d'rect descendant of Frodo Gard'ner. Frodo was the second eldest of thirteen. Yep, by now, by sure, there's Gard'ner blood in alla us." He always grins and winks at me when he says that. He also says, "Frodo Gard'ner's father was th' great Samwise Gamgee." He always says "Samwise Gamgee" reverently, like there's something special. I don't know what, only that if the Loremaster says he's special, he must be, because no one knows as much as him. The Loremaster's not going to tell me what's so special- says I'm still too young.  
  
But I'm not too young! I really do wish that he would just come on out and tell me the story of our past. I'm willing to bet that he knows the name of our old home. I just keep forgetting to ask him, because every time I go to the village, he's got a new story. Once, he told me about how it used to be that there were no Big People houses or settlements for miles and miles. It was just our country. He's also mentioned how the air was clearer and fresher. I don't quite understand how air can be different like that- not yet, anyway. He says it's all the Big People's fault- they made all of the smoke, and they cut down the trees. He doesn't seem too partial to the Big Folk, leastways not the Men.  
  
Last time, though, he told me about the Elves. From what I can gather, these Elves are Big Folk too. They're tall, and fair to look on, with pointed ears, he says. And they're immortal. Men think they have magic powers and are short. He says that they call us Elves. Us- can you imagine? We are not magic! I told him that, and he just smiled and said that whatever they aren't or can't do, they think is magic, or some of them do, anyway. What can we do that's so special? He says that we can disappear and hide well. I thought that that's rather disappointing. I already knew I could do that.  
  
Any how, back to these Elven folk. He says that they were the first race ever created. "Created by who?" I ask. He doesn't rightly know, but he says that the elves believed there were powers of the world, and they most loved Elbereth, the Star-Kindler. I asked him how he knew all of this. He showed me.  
  
In the Loremaster's home there's basically four rooms- a room for a bed, a kitchen, and his study. There's a very small room just off his study that no one has ever seen the inside of but him and me- he keeps it under lock and key. But then, the Loremaster says that he would be willing to let anyone into the secret room- it's just that no one save for me has shown interest.  
  
Inside of that room is one wall of shelves. The shelves are full of books, except for one spot. Right in the very center, there is a black case. I didn't think he would let me touch any of the things in there, just let me have a quick peek and then have me go back into the study, but he didn't do that. He told me I could come to his home any time I wanted and read any of these books. He also showed me what was in the case, but I am never ever to touch it.  
  
Inside the black case was a sword. I knew it was a sword- lots of homes have them over their fireplace. But they're never sharp, and none of them looked like this one. This one had strange runes on the side, and it was sharper than anything I had ever seen.  
  
"This blade ri' here," he said, "is Sting. Made by th' Elves. Glows blue when e'er there be orcs around- goblins, y'know. There aren't no more goblins now, though, praise be." I asked him to tell me more about goblins and orcs, and he did. He said they were once Elves, and then a bad Dark Lord captured them and changed them into orcs. I'm not entirely sure about how he did that, but I'm entirely sure that I don't want to know. I felt bad for Elves.  
  
I ask where the Elves are now, and how come it is that we never see them. He don't rightly know about that, either, only that they sailed away across the sea to a place called the Undying Land, and will never come back.  
  
I don't think he knows that for sure though; I saw one.  
  
I remember, I was out looking for some berries for mama for our supper, and I came across a Big Person, just in front of me. It was odd that I hadn't heard him, as I can usually hear those Big People from far away. He was leaning on a tree, and he saw me. I dropped my berry basket (all of the berries scattered) and ran- he didn't follow. I scrambled up a nearby tree to watch what he would do.  
  
He went over to my basket, put back all of the berries, and sat down with his back against the tree he had been leaning on. I think he knew I was there. He seemed to be waiting for me to come back, and when I didn't, he started to sing.  
  
"A Elbereth Glithoniel,

Silvren penna miriel

O menel aglar elenath!

Na-chaered palan-diriel

O galadhremmin ennorath.

Fanuilos, le linnathon

Nef aear, si nef aearon!"  
  
I hadn't ever heard a voice like that before. The Loremaster had told me that the Elves loved to sing, and had voices that could move even those with hearts of stone. He had said, though, nothing of seeing images in your head of the song. I could see stars, white, shimmering pinpricks in the sky that grew larger, until they were gems that I could reach out and touch. I felt light; I would float away if I became any lighter. I hadn't ever felt so happy before. And I saw a white face of a lady. She was smiling, and I looked into her eyes and saw the stars again. Her face disappeared and the stars left one by one as the Big Person stopped singing. I was left staring at nothing and holding the tree-branch. I felt a little bit foolish.  
  
I didn't think he was a Man anymore. I knew he could only be an Elf.  
  
I looked through the branches to see at his face. He was fair, just like the Loremaster had said. His ears were pointed, and his eyes were dark. They were also sad- I thought that if I looked at them for too long I might cry. He had scars on his hands, as if he had been burned badly a long time ago, like one of the old gaffers in the village. He had fallen into a fire when he was a lad, and had scars that looked like that. I didn't think the Elf would hurt me, or tell anyone what he had seen.  
  
I left the tree and went to pick up my basket. I stood there for a little while, and he watched me. I sort of stood there like a fool, and then remembered my manners and curtsied awkwardly.  
  
"That was a very lovely song, Master- um," I looked up, and he seemed a little happier; his eyes weren't as sorrowful.  
  
"Maglor," he said. He stood and bowed to me. "And who am I addressing?"  
  
I told him my name. "Elanor Loamsdown."  
  
He sort of smiled, but I'm not sure why- I hadn't said anything funny, really. "And where," he asked, "did a lass such as yourself come across a name such as that?"  
  
"I don't know. I think it was one of my ancestors, and I know it's some type of flower. A yellow flower."  
  
"That it is," said Maglor, "and it was very lovely flower at that." I was going to have to ask the Loremaster about elanor... I curtsied again.  
  
"I have to be going. Thank you, mister Maglor, sir!" I said, and left.  
  
I wonder if there are any other Elves that didn't go across the sea? I hope they all aren't as sad as he is, if there are. I felt horrid for him- he seemed like he was in the dark, and he wouldn't never see the sun again. He must have seen lots of things, both good and bad. I don't think I'd want to be immortal, if it meant that I would be so sad.  
  
But I still like Elves.

* * *

As I watched the young halfling go, I smiled, feeling the first ray of happiness that I had felt for a long time. So it was true that they were still alive.  
  
My wanderings over the long and cruel years had taken me everywhere along the coasts; I had revisited the cruel, cold, northernmost reaches of the land, wandered for long ages near where I had cast the Silmaril into the sea, and then turned and gone deep into the South. It was that that time the War of the Ring took place and Sauron had been defeated. I wished to learn more to distract myself from the guilt of the Silmarils, so I inquired as to what had happened. I heard the details from disgruntled Southern soldiers making their way back home.  
  
The halflings of this day and age seemed to be just as they had been described to me as the Men of the South had told me, when they had had great fame for their deeds. The Men had said that they were remarkable creatures, and I took it upon myself to find out more about them as a distraction to my woes. They were gentle, and trusting if you could find one, for they were small and could hide and disappear with the flicker of an eye. And they had an enormous capacity for hardships, as was proved long ago, in the War of the Ring.  
  
I was actually quite surprised that they had been able to keep hidden, what with the age of the machine going on with Men. Many forests are falling and lots of land is being inhabited by Men, limiting the places where they can hide and keep on living in peace. I shudder to think of what may happen to them if they are found and believed to be real by all of the society, not just the people who believe rumors of the unknown.  
  
Yes, if these halflings can survive in times like this, then so can I.


End file.
